


Bitter Sweets

by tetrahedron



Series: Savedra Shepard [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Corpalis Syndrome, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1800799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tetrahedron/pseuds/tetrahedron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus has always known his mother is sick. But there is a difference between knowing and <i>knowing</i>. For a long time, he and Sol keep up the facade that everything is all right at home, even in their own heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

With Corpalis Syndrome, it is impossible to divide things up neatly into before and after. There is no abrupt switch, no sudden change where your mother goes to sleep at night and the woman who wakes up the next morning is a stranger. It is a creeping, insidious process of slipping away, as if your mother’s body is a house she is slowly moving out of, coming back every now and then to take a piece of furniture, a treasured vase, a favorite item of clothing, until at last the house stands empty.

You try to keep her alive in memories, the way you would if she had died; how she’d drawl out her words when she was trying to keep from laughing, the silly jokes she told that always made you grin precisely because they weren’t a bit funny, the way warmth and delight made her voice go up an octave when she called out your name. But time goes on, and bit by bit it is the other woman who’s there with you, looking out in confusion from behind her eyes, messy and afraid and sometimes frightening. And inevitably, as the other woman grows increasingly familiar to you, it is your mother who becomes the stranger.  

Garrus has always known his mother is sick. But there is a difference between knowing and  _knowing_. For a long time, he and Sol keep up the facade that everything is all right at home, even in their own heads. 

Then, in the year that he turns seven, his mother starts coming up with reasons she can’t leave the house. 

She’s never been very social since their dad left, and they take mass transit to school, so it takes awhile before they really notice. There are little things, warning signs that they should see but don’t, because it’s easier not to see, to overlook the withered plants in the garden she no longer goes out to water, the trash piles that are collecting in the basement. She is very adept at inventing plausible reasons for them not to go out, and so without consciously acknowledging it, they alter their routine to reflect this new change, the way they’ve adjusted to all her other eccentricities. Garrus takes out the trash. Sol waters the garden. 

When they start to run out of food, it becomes harder to ignore.

At first it’s fun. They’ve never eaten so much take out in their lives, and they can’t get enough of the greasy, salty delicacies, like fried  _ovillam_ , and savory  _pullum_  skewers. 

But she’s been having trouble with her omnitool. Sometimes when they get home they find her staring at the display screen with a dazed, lost look on her face. Other times they catch her shouting at it, her voice hoarse with frustration. One night they notice it is gone from her wrist, and not for the first time Garrus feels a pang of alarm, but he doesn’t say anything, and neither does Sol. They adapt to this, too.

She makes a series of at first creative and then increasingly strange dinners from the imperishables and condiments they have stored in the house. Some of these turn out to be a success, but most of the time they are about what you’d expect to get from mixing canned  _raunari_  with pickled  _orsisroot_ and _garum_ sauce. Sol never complains, so Garrus tries his best not to either. After all, it is harder on her than it is on them. Sol and Garrus get a meal at school, but their mother is wasting away.

There is a notable decline as the week draws on and there is less and less food.

The shameful thing is, they both know that they can end it at any time. The grocery store is near their school, they practically walk past it everyday. A quick stop on their way home and this new development can be just one more adjustment that they don’t think about. But though they don’t talk about it with each other, Garrus knows they are both secretly clinging to the same stubborn hope; that this crisis will be enough to snap her out of it. That if she’s forced to choose between the nebulous fears the disease plants in mind and  _feeding her children,_  she will pick them. That she still has the power to make that choice.

It’s the end of the week. They watch her anxiously searching the house, checking and rechecking the shelves and storage until finally Sol breaks the rule they’ve been following for as long as he can remember. She steps forward slowly and carefully like she’s approaching a wounded bird and says, tentatively, ‘Hey, Mom, why don’t we go to the grocery store?’

Their mother turns, says with a tremulous smile, ‘Why of course, darling, what an excellent idea!’ as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. But their eyes are on her talons, which have begun distractedly worrying at the plates of her arms until the skin there is scratched and blue. 

The next hour is unbearable, as they watch her slowly get herself ready, putting on her best clothes like they’re going to Cipritine’s finest opera house instead of just the shabby local grocery store, her hands trembling as she painstakingly does her clan markings, frequently stopping to correct the lines she botches. At her side is the purse they got for her after the third time they found her half crying, half shouting at her omnitool, and she delves intently into its depths, checking and re-checking to make sure that she has the credit chit and the keys and the data pad that she keeps all her notes in. Clutching her bag tightly, she walks slowly up to the front door, each step heavy with dread. When she gets close enough to put a hand out and touch the access pad, a tremor goes through her and just like that they both know, she’s not going to be able to do it. It is the defining moment for both of them, when ‘ _our mother does not like to leave the house_ ' finally and irrevocable becomes ' _our mother physically cannot leave the house_ ’. The former is a situation that can correct itself, something that can be excused, overlooked. The latter is something altogether different. 

She turns back towards where they’ve been standing, watching her, and they can hear genuine bafflement in her voice when she says, ‘I’m so sorry, my darlings, I just can’t seem to focus tonight. I think it would be best if I… retired for the evening.’ Her eyes catch theirs pleadingly. ‘Would… would that be alright?’

Garrus is scared, and then angry. He wants to yell at her that he is hungry. That the other kids in school are giving him weird looks for showing up in unwashed clothes every day. That his teachers have started calling him in after class, asking pointed questions about his home life. 

But Sol steps up. 

“Of course, Mom, we’ll be fine. You go and rest,” she says, her voice reassuring.

And Garrus watches his mother relax, her hands tracing a fluttering caress across Sol’s forehead, before she slips away to her room. 

Sol picks up the purse she’s discarded by the door, with a sigh. 

'C'mon Garrus,' she says quietly. 

It’s their first time eating out by themselves, and because there is no one to tell them not to, they go to the place they like best, a dessert cafe by the school where the older kids hang out. 

They are both so hungry. Sol orders half the menu.

They do their best to ignore the questioning look their server gives them when he takes in their dirty clothes and lack of an adult guardian. Garrus silently mimics the haughty posture that Sol affects when the manager casually walks by ‘just to make sure they have everything they need’, both of them drawing themselves up to look at him scornfully as she hands over the credit chit connected to their father’s account. Neither of them are citizens yet, and so they don’t technically have a rank, but as the children of a 23rd tier officer they get away with more than they should. Garrus does a poor job of stifling laughter at the change in the manager’s attitude, but Sol never cracks, just stares at him icily as he hastily backs away. 

They eat more in that one night than they have all week, until they are past full and groaning, pushing the food around their plates as the dishes pile up. Later on Sol will become more practical, making him eat vegetables, brush his teeth, do his homework, their lives revolving around a never-ending list of rules and chores that she creates in lieu of an actual adult to guide them. Over the years he will watch his big sister harden herself to a knife’s edge, cutting down everyone around her with sharp words, any gentleness and patience she has left reserved solely for their mother. But on this night they are both still just two kids out on the town with their parents’ credit chit, and her arm is wrapped tight around his shoulders as they sit at the booth together, devouring plate after plate of sweets.


	2. Sight Lines

Garrus was ten when his sister shipped out for active duty. 

His father had made one of his rare trips to Palaven to see her off, which meant they had to work extra hard to hide the signs of their mother’s deteriorating condition. Sol always found a way to make a game out of the work, and this one was usually his favorite. The two of them were Spectres on a top secret mission for the Council, and it was just a coincidence that the parameters of their assignments happened to involve cleaning up the dirty laundry, broken dishes, and caches of hidden garbage strewn about the house. 

But this time it was different, and they both knew it. 

From now on, he’d be doing it alone. 

It was a school holiday, a time traditionally spent with family before the teenagers left home for good. His mother spent the week shut up in her room. Every evening Solana would let herself in, sometimes staying for hours. Garrus was supposed to be asleep but he waited up for her anyway in their shared bedroom. He watched her from beneath the covers when she finally crept back in each night, her eyes red rimmed and exhausted. And he always listened for the sound of her even breathing before he let himself drift off into sleep. 

Their father was staying at a hotel. Garrus didn’t see him much. He came by to pick up Solana a few times. One night, near the end of the week, he took them both out to dinner in Cipritrine. Garrus remembered fluctuating between elation and dejection as he sat at the fancy restaurant, ensconced between his austere father and his icy, furious sister. For one thrilling moment his father turned towards him, his eyes speculative as he asked about his achievements at school. Garrus stammered through an awkward summary, speaking quickly at first but eventually slowing as his various accomplishments elicited no response. He finally trailed off altogether when he realized his father’s eyes had slid past him, back to his sister, and he’d understood that he wasn’t listening. He felt Sol take his hand under the table.

He and Sol spent the majority of that last week by themselves, out in the fields behind their house. Sometimes she helped him train, setting up his targets, and cheering as he hit them all dead on. Other times he watched her practice her cloaking drills, her slim form winking in and out through the tall silver grass. But his favorites were the times she’d let him play the games they used to play back when she was younger, before their mom had gotten sick. She’d been different back then, less caustic, quicker to smile and laugh. Now, even during the games he could feel her distance, see her turning back to cast glances up at the dark windows of their house.

Too soon the week was up. On the last day he woke up to find her packing, her back turned to him while she tried to cram as much gear as possible into the slim footlocker the regiment had sent her. Outfitted in the dark armor of the Armiger legions, she looked like a stranger. Grabbing his beat up old Punisher, he slipped out of the room and ran into the fields, through the silver grass, until he came to the old vesper tree on the edge of their property. He pulled himself up into it’s leafy shade, and made his way to the lookout point at the heart of it’s gnarled branches. He sat there for hours, letting his head rest against the solid trunk. When he heard her calling for him, he stayed silent, curling his arms around his spurs and huddling deeper into the tree. But she found him anyway.

“Oi!” he heard her shout from behind him. He jerked around to see her scrabbling at something at her feet. He ducked just in time as she launched a pebble up towards him with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Look alive!” 

 In three easy movements she had jumped forward and pulled herself up next to him, her legs wrapping around the rough bark of the ancient vesper.

"What kind of slipshod operation is this, Vakarian,” she sassed at him, perfectly mimicking the salty banter of their old elementary sergeant. "Trail clear as daylight, and not even a perimeter guard set up? Enemy’d have to be thick as a Krogan’s taint to miss you sitting up here."

Despite himself, Garrus laughed. “It’s got good sight lines,” he said, a little defensively, one hand on the scarred old trunk, and for a second he saw her smile, before she caught herself.

“That only works if you’re looking the right way, genius” she retorted, cuffing him gently on his fringe. “What enemy are you expecting from this direction, anyway?” she said, gesturing out to the empty field.

He fidgeted with the gun in his hands. “Transport shuttle,” he muttered finally, eyes on the ground beneath them.

Sol made a startled coughing noise, almost losing her balance. “Were you going to shoot them  _down_?” she said indignantly, when she could speak again.

“Maybe.”

She squinted at him suspiciously. “Before or after they picked me up?”

He tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. “Hadn’t decided yet.”

“ _Garrus,”_ she half growled, half groaned through her teeth, her mandibles flaring out _._

She glared at him, and he shifted uncomfortably. He was fairly certain she was debating whether to hug him or scream at him.

Luckily, the former won out.

With an enormous sigh, she reached out and slung her arm across his skinny shoulders.

They sat like that for awhile, both of them watching the horizon as the wind traced currents through the tall silver grass.

"It’ll be ok," she said quietly. 

“You don’t know that.”

"She loves you so much, Garrus." 

He still wouldn’t look at her. He brought up his rifle instead, gazing out through the sight at the rippling grass. Far away he saw a lone argentavis circling the pale grey sky, searching for it’s prey.

"What if she gets confused again," he said, his eyes fixed on the predator’s bright plates.  

She tensed up beside him, and he knew she was remembering the day they came home from the school trip and everything in the house was smashed, plates and cups and rotten food all strewn in pieces on the floor. 

 _Don’t leave me alone here_. He bit his tongue to keep the words back. 

"Garrus, listen to me," she said, pulling him to face her. "No matter what happens, you can’t tell anyone.” She was trying to sound calm, but her sub-vocals were edged with fear. “They’ll take her away. Do you understand?” Her eyes searched his, and he nodded. 

“She needs your help.” She stroked his head, her eyes finding, and then quickly shying away from the faded bruises on the still baby-soft plates of his cowl. "Let me know if-,” she broke off, nervously crushing a handful of pale, triangular leaves. They gave off a bitter, green scent. “If things get… really bad." She swallowed quickly. "I swear, I’ll find a reason to make them send me home."

He darted a look up at her. She caught his eyes. This time she was the first to look away.  

"Sol," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "What about Dad? He’s here now. Maybe-"

But she stiffened, and when she spoke the ice was back in her voice. “You want to know why he’s back, Garrus?” she said quietly. “Because I’m finally old enough to be worth something to him.” She swung her foot out into the trunk in a vicious kick, and their branch creaked in protest. “There’s only one thing he cares about, and it’s not us or mom.” 

He flinched.

There was a beat in which he could sense her realization that what she’d said cut both ways. Her voice softened.

"I’m sorry. I know it must seem unfair. If it helps, you should know he never listened to me, either, when I was your age." Her mandibles set in a rigid line, she ripped at another handful of leaves. "And I’m sure once you turn 15 and everyone figures out how great a shot you are with that rifle, he’ll forget he even has a daughter."

“But Sol,” he said, not ready to give the idea up completely, “if I’m good enough this time, if I showed him, do you think… he’d take me back with him?”

He knew immediately he shouldn’t have said it. But he had carried a secret hope within himself since the night of that terrible dinner. That if his father could only see how much he’d improved since those awful lessons so many years ago, something would finally click between them. An invisible door would open, and his father would walk through. 

Solana tugged her arm away. She stared down at him, her eyes glittering.

“Grow up, Garrus,” Her words came like a slap. "You’re too old to pull this kind of little kid crap." She looked at him with a combination of exasperation and pity. “You know he could have sent for us anytime he wanted. But he didn’t.” He shrank back from the anger in her sub vocals.

”And what about Mom,” she continued ruthlessly, her eyes narrowing. “Would you just leave her here by herself? Like he did? What do you think would happen to her while you’re gone?”

Garrus bowed his head, feeling terrible. But some part of him was still rebellious. “ _You’re_  leaving,” he mumbled. He tensed preemptively against the reprisal he was sure would follow. 

But to his surprise she deflated, sagging down next to him, her head folding into her knees.

She rocked silently for a moment, eyes shut, hands covering her face.

"I know," she said finally, her voice muffled and miserable. “And I’m sorry. But there’s no way to get out of my service without them finding out about Mom. I put it off for as long as I could get away with. They’ll have to do a formal inquiry if I claim family infirmity much longer." She looked at him, her eyes beseeching. "I tried to wait until I knew that you’d be ready. Until you were grown up enough to look out for her, and yourself too. I know you can do this." Her sub vocals were practically keening with an unspoken plea. _Please don’t let me down. Don’t let mom down_.

Any other time Garrus would have been thrilled to hear this praise from his older sister. Now it just gave him a sinking feeling, like the zero gravity tests they did at school.

"Promise you’ll take care of her,” Solana insisted, her gaze still locked on his. "Promise you won’t tell anyone. Not even Dad."

Looking back, Garrus wants to make himself yell at her, reason with her, do  _something_  to make her understand how impossibly unfair it is to put all of that on him when he’s only ten years old. He wants his younger self to say, ‘No, I can’t’, or ‘It’s too much’, or something vague and non-committal. Anything that would have given him an out he could have used later, when it all fell apart.

But he’s looking into her eyes, and even though what she’s asking feels wrong, feels sick, it’s still his sister. So he says the only thing he can say.

"I promise," he whispered back. She gave him a relieved smile, and hugged him hard. He gripped her tightly, pushing his face into the space between her head and cowl. When he finally let go he was amazed to hear his tough, spiky sister keening faintly. She scraped a fist across her face plates, and swore, her voice thick. 

"Look at me, already falling apart. I’m gonna miss you, you know that?" She ran a hand roughly over his fringe. "I’ll write every day. Write me back, okay? Let me know what’s going on. Even the dumb school stuff." 

“I will,” he said, hopeless and lost.

She managed a shaky grin. Then she pulled back. With a jerk, she let herself drop down from the branch, landing in a crouch on the rocky ground beneath the vesper. When she rose, she looked back up at him, scowling fiercely. 

"And Garrus. I’ve seen you shoot. You’re way better than ‘good enough’. Don’t forget that."

Garrus nodded back at her, not trusting himself to speak.

"Goodbye, little brother," she said softly. "Spirits guide your path."

"And yours," he said, automatically giving the response as she turned away, walking through the tall silver grasses, back toward the house, and out of his sight.


End file.
